


Beautiful Miss

by Maharielves



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 21:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13085976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maharielves/pseuds/Maharielves
Summary: "Aingeal, are you even paying attention?"Written for a friend.





	Beautiful Miss

It was a Sunday morning and the two were  _dancing._

The kitchen their ballroom, Angela Ziegler and Moira O'Deorain were spinning and twirling and stomping to a song on Pandora, playing loud and clear through Moira's LG. Outside, Zürich awoke. Snow fell lightly outside their shared house's window, little flecks shaping the world beyond their windows and making it beautiful. Almost as pretty as the head of blonde hair giggling over the chorus.

Moira loved it well. More than a solitary Dublin existence, at least.

The kicker? She loved Angela more than the snow, and the music and the lazy Sunday mornings where they could do anything they wanted and and  _everything else._

Moira swallowed that thought and kissed Angela to the pop of bread jumping out of the toaster.

* * *

 

Moira couldn't sleep.

Okay, see, she  _did not have_ insomnia, she'd know. Her girlfriend was the foremost mind in medicine. Period. She had the technology to fight anyone who had the nerve to dispute her.

The problem was, without Angela, Moira couldn't sleep a wink. The Irishwoman tried it all. 'All' being cold medicine and chamomile tea, because even minds as great as theirs needed something natural to remedy them. 

So, at an hour she'd call  _ungodly,_ Moira nipped over to a Starbucks near HQ. Paying hastily for a pastry (for Angela, of course) and two coffees, she'd tear out of that drive-thru and into the avenue leading into the Watchpoint.

Namely, the Watchpoint's hospital.

Flashing her Overwatch badge to the receptionist without even a glance, Moira darted into the elevator, blowing a stray red strand of hair from her eyes. Clutching the Starbucks bag and two coffees, she ignored the look from another doctor beside her.

He was judging her, and she'd be damned if she let it get to her.

_Ding._

* * *

 

As it turned out, when your girlfriend works late shifts, they don't let you into the operating room.

Moira thought that it was a total farce and they just didn't like her. And if she let out a few choice words in Gaelic, the nurse didn't seem to care.

So there she sat, a ratty thing. The lanky geneticist swiped her thumb across her phone, eyes stinging from just how tired she was. The little clock at the top of the screen glowed 2:30 AM, and Moira was honestly just considering leaving the pasty in Angie's office and-

A door opened to her side, and a fraying blonde doctor (who, in all honesty, only wanted to see her pretty Irish girlfriend and  _go to sleep_ ) strode out, thumbing her tired eyes. Overwatch's newest surgeon - a Siberian man, from near the Omnium - brushed past her and into the operating room. The door closed.

Swearing quietly in German, Dr. Angela Ziegler turned around to look at the odd silhouette she'd passed on the way out.

And Moira stood with her elfish grin, holding up her love's watery once-iced coffee and lukewarm pastry.

* * *

 

Moira found that Angie could keep up with her talking about her work in rapid-fire Gaelic.

Theorems and ideas and solutions flew out of her mouth a mile a minute, Angela half-listening through the other end. Her tablet was propped up on a stack of books, beside her in her study. The camera focused on her face, giving Moira a good look at her girlfriend every time she bothered to look down at her phone.

" _Aingeal,_ are you even paying attention?"

"Mmmmmmhm."

* * *

 

Moira had never truly felt this feeling before, but there it was; she was nervous.

She opened the door to her home, flicked on the living room light. Heterochromic eyes darted down to the precious object clutched in her hand. A black box, soft to the touch, encasing within it a diamond ring.

Quietly opening the door to her love's study - one she wasn't supposed to really be in, for that matter - she searched for a place to hide the thing. Angie would have found it anywhere else. This mess? She'd never even notice it.

And that was when she heard it.

"Moira O'Deorain, what the  _hell_ are you doing?"

She'd never wheeled around so quickly in her life. Her back popped, and she curled a lip at how  _that_ particular bit felt.

The look on her face could only be described as that of a kicked puppy's. Mostly because she was ashamed. This was Angie's space and she'd invaded it and-

Moira knew what she had to do.

Inhaling through her nose, the redhead took the box from her pocket and knelt down, ratty black slacks and tattered dress shirt making the scene  _oh-so_ romantic.

She really should have brushed her teeth. Maybe brushed up on her German.

"Angela Ziegler, _willst du mich heiraten?"_

Any protest melts away when the blonde's eyes see it. The ring resting there in the box. 

 

She can't bring herself to do anything but throw her arms around Moira, tears in her eyes, murmuring many hushed  _yes_ _es_ in the dark.

 

 


End file.
